


Artists Passion

by mistressterably



Category: Peter Capaldi - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 11:37:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4477850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistressterably/pseuds/mistressterably
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter's head of the art department, your a junior artist. Keeping your head down and just working away seems the best way to get on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Artists Passion

The month’s magazine was put to bed and it was the quiet before the building storm for the next issue. I’d only been working there for three months now and I was technically still on probation. As a junior in the art department, it was my job to help out on whatever original drawings were needed throughout the magazine. Being an art journal that was published internationally, it had been a wonderful day when I’d been accepted to the role. My strengths were on landscapes but being forced to assist with portraiture and the caricatures was helping to hone my skills. I’d been told from the start when there weren't any urgent or specific tasks set to me I was to spend my time working on ideas from current news issues. 

So, I sat chewing on the end of my favourite mechanical pencil, looking at the blank sheet that I’d pinned to the draft board. Many of the senior artists had bunked off for the day. The only ones left in the office for the day (with a long four hours left of the day before official clock off time) were myself, one of the political commentators catching up on some quiet reading and the department head. I hardly ever spoke to either of them. I was more on the social / entertainment issues side of the journal and the politicos rarely bothered to even acknowledge our side of the room. ‘Oh good on you, another poke at Madonna’s tits.’ was one of the lines I’d caught muttered in our direction.

The department head, Peter, now there was a man. Quiet-spoken, a raft of grey hair that was usually more chaotic than under control, commanding tone though. When he stood up and strode to someone in the room with a purpose to his step everyone knew it. His favourite method of telling someone off was to perch on the corner of their desk, wait silently till they stopped what they were working on (he was an artist himself - portraiture specialist) and then using his long fingers to help detail why he was there to speak to them, usually about some work they’d done that was off somehow. I was just very grateful that I’d not been the centre of his attention to date and really wanted to keep it that way. It had been unsettling enough to look up one day to see him peering in my direction over his dark-rimmed glasses. I had thought for sure I was going to catch one of his ‘talks’ after that but nothing had come of it. 

So, I was sitting there on this nice quiet day, using my time wisely and I’d thought about working up a sketch to play on the glut of superhero films that seemed to be film of the day lately. Classic hero movies versus the new crop of pretty boys, I thought would be a good poke at entertainment and not as sticky on portraiture as the usual range would demand. To help me I’d called up a bunch of images on my laptop with the classic superhero movies: Superman, Batman, X-men. Slowly sketching out Professor X in the central part of the classics side. classic, stern, in charge I thought to make the character perfect as the heart of the image. I leaned towards the draft board and was lightly planning out the scene and after a solid hour of sketching I was quite pleased with my progress so far and sat back to stretch my back and shoulders.

‘Perhaps too busy a scene?’ Peter’s Scots burr came from behind me. His long finger gestured in a grand circle over the bare sketching so far. ‘Or is the purpose to overwhelm the viewer?’

I jumped slightly at his voice, not expecting anyone to have been there. My pencil fell from my grasp and dropped to the floor, rolling towards his feet. How does he walk so silently in those damned heavy looking shoes he wore, I thought to myself. 

‘Sorry about that.’ He said quietly and bent his long frame down to pick up my pencil. ‘Thought you’d have heard me walking over.’ Peter held out my pencil for me to take back. He nodded, his hair ruffling slightly from the motion, to my draft board. ‘Well?’

‘Too busy?’ I swallowed hard, thinking this was it. I knew I only had one more issue to go before I’d be off probation so if it was to be the end it would have to be soon. At least if it was to be the chop I had to admit that it was nice to have it done when there was hardly anyone in the office. ‘Probably.’ I agreed. ‘Too ambitious.’

‘Why?’ He asked, pointing to the scene.

‘Why?’ I asked, flicking my eyes from his piercing gaze to my work. ‘I, ah,’ Swallowing again, nervous as hell. ‘So many hero movies out and more to come. As busy as the theatres.’ That sounded lame even to myself now. Hopefully the saving grace out of this would be that it wasn't a formal task or need but a proposal sketch. 

‘Still not comfortable really with portraiture?’ He changed the subject. 

‘Not my forte.’ I admitted. ‘Practice though.’ I shrugged, everyone was always going on about practice to get better at anything. 

‘More about the theme prompting you than the characters themselves.’ Peter observed. ‘I was going to the cafe to get a coffee. Shall I bring you one back?’

‘Coffee?’ I asked stupidly. 

‘Yes, you are here till 5pm aren’t you?’ Peter asked.

‘Yes, junior.’ I stammered out. ‘I’d love one but I can run down for you instead. You’re...’ I groaned inwardly.

‘Sit and think. What are you really trying to say with your scene. Describe it to me properly when I come back with a coffee.’ Peter said, a warm smile on his face and a comforting hand on my shoulder. ‘Use what you’re good at to make your point. Forcing yourself to say something when you aren't comfortable with the how will detract.’ 

Watching him leave the office, I just sat there dumbfounded. The head of the art department was going to get me a coffee and asking me about my work. The head … of the department… it was just too much for me to take in. 

‘You’re next, then.’ The politico said in the quiet of the office. 

‘Sorry?’ I blinked to bring myself back down to earth. 

‘Him. You’re next.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘You have heard about Perky Peter haven’t you?’

‘Perky Peter?’ I hadn't heard. 

‘You’re in for a treat then.’ The politico chuckled. 

‘What?”

‘Seriously, don’t you listen to office gossip? You’re going to have to get your shit together, newbie. Keep missing out on the ‘news’ and you’ll be so far behind that you’ll be unnoticed, unimpressive and unemployed.’

‘Oh. I thought.. ‘ I gulped. ‘I try not to get involved in office gossip or such.’

‘Listen .. not get involved. Huge difference.’ Politico said. ‘Knowing is more important than fucking in this business. Why do you think I hang out here all the time? I could read this crap at home in my boxers but I read it here.. ‘ He shrugged again. ‘ Read it here and I can see Perky Peter making his move on you. Knowledge.’

‘Moves?’ I was starting to get an idea of what he was implying but didn't really want to think that the department head was just angling to get me into bed with him. 

‘Good luck.’ He got to his feet and started to put his book into his shoulder bag. ‘Have a cosy afternoon, newbie.’

Left alone in the office, I twirled the pencil in my fingers. Perky Peter? Should have asked what was meant by that. Christ, I realized, that once he returned with the coffee it would just be the two of them. What if? Don’t think that way, I thought. Surely I'm reading too much into it all.

Footsteps drew my attention to look at the door to the office. Peter was back with two coffees. ‘Thought he might leave.’ Peter said, nodding to the empty desk that had been occupied by Steven (I thought that was his name anyway.) 

‘Oh?’ I asked and took the offered cup from Peter.

‘Steve does that all the time. Hangs around till everyone is gone in the hopes of catching something he can natter on about. Judging by the panicky look on your face I’d say he did natter on to you.’ Peter’s accent was calming as he lifted the lid off his coffee. Blowing on it gently he sipped it cautiously. ‘Well?’ I hadn't responded to him yet. ‘Did he then?’

‘Ah,’ I hesitated. 

‘I’m not some junior artist’s nightmare, contrary to what most of the department says.’ Peter casually perched on the corner of my desk. I gulped my hot coffee to stop from panicking even further. ‘Of course I have to be harsh at times. It is my job after all to cast off the chaff, so to speak. But it’s also my job to keep everyone and everything on task.’

‘Like junior artists with too busy attempts at pithy social commentary?’ I asked.

‘The very same.’ His smile was disarming. ‘I set you a task. Describe this to me properly. Why this picture?’

‘It’s meant to be a dig at all the crap super hero movies on the market today versus the classic ones where they were more meaningful.’

‘Commentary being the lack of social morality or purpose in the current crop?’ Peter pushed me to put more thought into what I was saying. 

‘I suppose.’ I stammered out finally. I’d totally lost the plot of what I’d actually been trying to do with my art at the moment. I sighed and just looked into my half empty coffee cup. Long fingers, still calloused from years of holding pens and pencils, took me by the chin to force my gaze up to his. 

‘To succeed in this business, to truly have your work published and admired you have to be ready to speak to it. You can never expect someone else to be passionate about what they see if there wasn't the same passion put into it while being created.’ His finger stabbed me gently in the chest. ‘Any fool can try to scribble, some can scribble very well. Are you a scribbler?’

‘No!’ I said emphatically.  
‘Why this piece?’ A finger at the draft board again.

‘Too much nonsense in the world flooding your senses to the point of meaninglessness. It’s all quantity and so much less quality.’

‘Is this the right vehicle for this theme? For you?’ More pushing.

‘I need to practice my skills for drawing people.’

‘Practice is just practice. It’s not meant to be done while creating. Sketchbooks in the park, on the bus, at the mall, practice real people, real scenes. If you’re here to draw something that means something that has passion.’ His face neared mine, intense. ‘Then make it mean something.’ A finger stabbing my chest again. ‘From here.’

I nodded, catching on. 

‘Good.’ He reached over to the barely started sketch and ripped it off the board. ‘Do it right this time. Show me the passion you have inside you.’ He crumpled the paper in his hand. ‘Give me a piece with passion in it and then we’ll see if it prompts the passion of someone who can write. Do that, and you get it published.’

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt in a facebook group:  
> Peter's just silently watching you work from afar and doesn't dare to interrupt, until you catch him staring. He could walk over your desk, see your work and give you his input...


End file.
